The Witch is Dead (13 page)

Aunt Dot turned toward Tink, her eyes wide with excitement. “OnLaw and Order the cops always stake out the funeral. So all we need to do…”

Abby and I both winced.

“…is go to the funeral,” she announced with satisfaction.

Twelve

As I walked into the viewing room at the funeral home in Aiken, the overpowering smell of carnations assaulted my senses. Mr. Buchanan’s casket had to be surrounded by at least thirty different floral arrangements. And the spray on top of the open casket was elaborate, to say the least. It contained roses, carnations, lilies, and mementos of his life. I spied several fishing lures attached to the ribbon that saidBeloved Husband in scrolled gold letters. A beat-up hat with more hooks and fishing flies fastened to the crumpled crown lay propped up against the coffin’s lid. Evidently, Mr. Buchanan liked to fish.

The first two rows were empty—waiting for the family to join the group. With a hand firmly on Aunt Dot’s arm, I hurried her to the back row. The last thing I wanted was for her to peer down at the deceased Mr. Buchanan as if she could detect a clue to his murder. If we had to be there, we could at least be as unobtrusive as possible.

She’d selected her purple pantsuit to wear today. Her purse was gripped tightly in one hand, and I eyed it with skepticism. It had taken a lot of persuasion to convince her that including a camera to snap pictures of the mourners would
be inappropriate, but I wasn’t so sure she’d listened. Oh well, Abby could sit next to her, and if a camera popped out, she could wrestle it away from her.

Abby looked classy in her black suit and her pale rose-colored blouse, but I knew by her expression that there were a million places she’d rather be.

Tink was the one who really concerned me. I hadn’t wanted her to come. I suggested that she spend the day with Nell, but she insisted that she be here. When Abby weighed in on Tink’s side, I caved in. I still questioned the wisdom of allowing a fourteen-year-old medium inside a funeral home, but Abby thought that leaving Tink out would only add to the guilt she still felt.

After taking the chair next to Tink, I squirmed uncomfortably. The tag at the collar of my white shirt seemed to make the back of my neck itch. Or maybe it wasn’t the tag that was making me twitch. Maybe it was the idea of horning in on a complete stranger’s funeral.

I cast a side glance at Tink. Abby held her hand tightly, and I knew she was adding her energy to Tink’s to prevent any unwelcome messages from beyond to filter through.

I shifted my attention to the crowd filing past Mr. Buchanan’s casket. I’d been so intent on getting Aunt Dot as far from the body as possible that I hadn’t noticed the young man who was standing at the foot of the coffin with his hands solemnly folded in front of him. It was the same young man who had picked Buchanan up at the airport. Couldn’t be a son, I thought. If he was a Buchanan, he’d be with the family gathered in another room as they waited for the service to start.

His role in Buchanan’s life became apparent when I saw him hand one of the funeral programs to someone as they moved away from the casket. He worked here.

He caught me staring at him, and a flicker of surprise showed in his pale blue eyes. He bobbed his head slightly in recognition.

Kid’s got a good memory, I thought.

Returning my concentration to the crowd filing into the room, I scanned each face, searching for a sign of remorse, a fleeting expression of guilt, anything unusual in their demeanor that might indicate they were hiding something.

Nope, no one looked like a killer to me. But then again, I knew from experience, they never do. Even the most innocent face can hide a monster willing to take another’s life. In fact, in the past I’d even sat down to dinner with a murderer, never knowing that he’d killed my best friend. So much for being a psychic, and I knew under these circumstances, if I tried using my talent now, all I’d pick up would be a bunch of jumbled emotions and thoughts. There were too many people in the room to home in on just one person.

Turning my head, I checked on Tink. She sat with her head lowered, staring at Abby’s hand holding hers. Abby caught my eye over the top of Tink’s head and gave me a reassuring smile. I wondered if she remembered the young man from the airport. I’d ask her after this ordeal was over.

“Psst, Ophelia,” hissed a voice from my right.

I was shocked to see Christopher Mason standing in the aisle next to our row.

My brow wrinkled in a frown. What was he doing here? He knew Buchanan? What a coincidence.

He motioned for me to join him in the back of the room. Mumbling my apologies, I carefully made my way over to where he stood.

“Hi,” I said, keeping my voice low.

“I’m surprised to see you under these circumstances,” he whispered back.

Not wanting to explain that the reason we were there was based on my great-aunt’s half-baked notion that she’d be able to spot Buchanan’s killer, I ignored his remark. “You knew Mr. Buchanan?” I asked.

“Yes. I was his mother’s physician before she passed away…and we’ve had some business dealings.” His gaze darted to the front of the room. “This is such a tragedy. Raymond was a very nice man, and I don’t know what Kevin’s going to do now.”

“Kevin?”

“His assistant. Raymond took him under his wing after Kevin flunked out of medical school. And the last time I spoke with Raymond, he said he was trying to get Kevin into mortuary school.”

“Really?” I eyed the young man with interest.

Christopher noticed my expression. “Yes. Nothing unusual about that; many former medical students wind up in the funeral business.”

“And now he’s out of a job?”

“Yes, unless he can find another funeral home that will take him on.”

Before I could ask more questions—like what kind of “business dealings” would a doctor have with a funeral director—the organ music began and the family made their way quietly into the room.

“I’ll talk to you later,” Christopher said softly, laying a hand on my arm.

I returned to my seat and watched the family. It was obvious who the widow was. She clung tightly to Kevin’s arm as he escorted her to her seat in the front row.

To call her flamboyant would be an understatement. She was obviously several years younger than what Buchanan had been, and even from my chair in the back row, I could
see the sparklers on both hands. And I would have bet they weren’t cubic zirconia. Those diamonds had to be several carats each.

In addition to the diamonds, she wore a black suit and black hat. Appropriate attire for a widow, except her hat, suit, and shoes were trimmed with leopard print.

I shook my head. Darci would have a conniption over an outfit like that. Even I, with my lack of fashion sense, thought the widow’s dress was cheesy beyond belief.

Abby cleared her throat and drew my attention away from the grieving widow. Her eyes widened as she flashed a look that said she shared my opinion.

Two men followed Mrs. Buchanan at a respectful distance. From their resemblance to Mr. Buchanan, I guessed them to be his grown children, and based on their obvious age, the widow wasnot their mother. Everything about them told me they were glad she wasn’t. They held their bodies stiffly, and with every move, I sensed their disapproval of their father’s wife.

Hmm. I wondered whose name was on the life insurance policy. Maybe Aunt Dot’s insistence at attending the funeral wasn’t so half-baked after all.

Aunt Dot wasn’t satisfied just going to the funeral. Oh no, we had to go to the graveside service, too. Abby marshaled her over the rough ground of the cemetery while Tink and I brought up the rear. Even though the weather had been dry and hot, the spikes of my low heels sunk into the sod as I followed Abby.

We were hanging at the back of the gathering when Kevin spotted Aunt Dot. He made his way to her and offered her his arm, and before Abby or I could protest, he led her to the folding chairs lined up by the open grave. I suppose he
thought, because of her age, she should be seated during the service.

And she was—right next to Buchanan’s widow.

I observed her bright eyes taking in the grieving family. Peachy. Aunt Dot was out of our sphere of influence, and we had no way of controlling what she might decide to do. Hopefully, she wouldn’t pull out the camera I still suspected she carried and start snapping away.

From where I stood, I saw her lean to the side until her shoulder was touching the widow’s. She said something, but I was too far away to catch her words.

The widow sniffed delicately into a white handkerchief as she listened intently to Aunt Dot. Well, at least the cloth wasn’t trimmed in leopard, I thought unkindly.

I shifted uneasily throughout the service, nervous over what Tink’s reaction to the cemetery might be and waiting for the opportunity to get Aunt Dot away from the family. Finally it was over, but before I could make my move, Kevin walked down the line of chairs, shaking each person’s hand and murmuring what I presumed were words of condolence. When he reached Aunt Dot, again he offered her his arm and brought her back to where Abby, Tink, and I stood.

Smiling, he extended his hand to Abby. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. McDonald, but I’m sorry it’s under such sad circumstances. I’m Kevin Roth.”

Shock registered on my face. How did he know Abby’s name?

Catching my surprise, he explained, “Ray told me all about his plane ride with Miss Cameron.” His blue eyes twinkled as he glanced at Aunt Dot.

I dropped my chin and stared at a spot on the ground.Gee, wonder if Mr. Buchanan shared Aunt Dot’s tales of her fairies, too? This kid had to think we were all nuts.

“And this must be Titania,” he said, shifting his attention to Tink.

He even knew Tink’s real name. I raised my head and saw Tink preen with pleasure. She suddenly had more color in her face than I’d seen all day. My eyes narrowed, gauging her reaction to Kevin, and I felt an instinct that I didn’t know I had. I went on alert.

A good-looking guy and a young girl just beginning to notice the opposite sex. Not a good combination. And no doubt about it—Kevin was cute. Blond hair, blue eyes, a little short, but built well. If he were taller, he could be a model. How many years separated them? Six? Seven? Not many if you’re an adult, but for a teenager it was too wide a gulf as far as I was concerned. I resisted the urge to tug Tink to my side.

Kevin’s eyes moved to me. “And you’re Ophelia.”

“You have a very good memory, Kevin. To remember all our names,” I replied.

Kevin’s smile brightened. “It’s easy. Ray was thoroughly entertained by your aunt’s stories. He talked of nothing else on the way home from the airport.”

I just bet he was, but before I could make a polite reply to Kevin’s remark, Christopher came up from behind and clapped a hand on Kevin’s shoulder.

“How are you doing?” he asked.

The smile left Kevin’s face. “Okay,” he answered with hesitation. “I’m going to miss Mr. Buchanan, and I’m—I’m worried about what Mrs. Buchanan will eventually do with the business. For now, another director from Taylor is going to take care of things, but I don’t know how long that will last.” He sighed. “I feel guilty for thinking of it at a time like this, but…”

“You need the job,” Christopher finished for him.

“Yeah.” He picked at his sleeve. “I’ve got all those school loans to pay off, and then there’s the money I send Mom.”

“Would you like me to ask around at a couple of places in Des Moines? See if they have any openings?”

Kevin’s face brightened. “Would you? That would be terrific, Dr. Mason. Mrs. Buchanan said I could stay in the apartment at the funeral home for at least a month.” He cast a nervous look over one shoulder. “I’d rather not if I can help it.”

Christopher’s eyes followed Kevin’s and came to rest on the grieving widow. “I’ll see what I can do,” he said shortly.

We’d turned and begun to walk to our cars when Tink tugged on my sleeve. “There’s that guy that runs the crematorium.”

“Where?” I asked, scanning the departing crowd.

I was busy searching for Silas Green and didn’t see what happened next. All I knew was one minute Aunt Dot was digging in her purse, and the next she was falling. Maybe she stepped in a gopher hole. Maybe she tripped on a fallen branch. As she pitched forward, she struck her wrist on a headstone. Christopher managed to grab her and keep her on her feet, but the damage was done. Her wrist was bent at an unnatural angle.

Thirteen

As I walked into the library Tuesday morning, Darci hurried toward me, leaving Gert standing by one of the bookshelves with a perplexed look on her face.

“What happened to Aunt Dot?” she asked, twisting her hands.

I rolled my eyes. “How did you know anything happened?”

“It’s all over town. One story has her breaking a hip, another her arm.” She dropped her hands and gave me a sly glance. “It’s also been said you were accompanied to the hospital by a doctor.”

“Jeez,” I said, marching to the counter and stowing my backpack underneath. “Are there no secrets in this town?”

“Not many. The doctor was Christopher, right?” She tossed her head. “I can’t figure why you picked a funeral as your first date—”